


The Telepathy Affair

by MayGlenn



Series: May's February Ficlet Challenge 2019 [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Polyamory, THRUSH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayGlenn/pseuds/MayGlenn
Summary: “He’ll be alright. This doesn’t look so bad, just give me a minute,” Napoleon said, thinkingshit shit shit this looks badas he read the charts and formulas the (dead) THRUSH scientists had left behind,these are all really high doses of psychoactive drugs, he could have a stroke any minute, gotta keep him calm—“You are not going to keep me calm talking like that,” Illya said, words clipped short in annoyance.





	The Telepathy Affair

**Author's Note:**

> No relation to me and Cog's ABO!verse, except that Gaby, Illya, and Napoleon are still and will always be in a polyamorous relationship.

“What is it? What did they do?” Gaby hissed, loosing the buckles from Illya’s wrists while Napoleon poured over the charts laying on the table beside him. THRUSH agents had captured him and were already experimenting on him—testing drugs, it looked like, from how Illya was shivering and panting, his eyes screwed shut and fists clenched, but otherwise not a mark on him.

_Oh my God, oh God, Illya..._

“Don’t—” Illya began, worried. He felt dizzy, overwhelmed, everything too loud and too bright. Illya had never gotten a migraine before, but maybe this was what one felt like.

“Illya, it’s us,” Gaby said, reasonably. “We’re not going to—” she stopped, knowing that wasn’t what he was worried about. _And you’re not going to hurt us._

“He’ll be alright. This doesn’t look so bad, just give me a minute,” Napoleon said, thinking _shit shit shit this looks bad_ as he read the charts and formulas that the (now dead) THRUSH scientists had left behind, _these are all really high doses of psychoactive drugs, he could have a stroke any minute, he could be having a stroke right now, gotta keep him calm—_

“You. Are. Not. Keeping. Me. Calm. Talking. Like. That,” Illya said, words clipped short in annoyance.

_Like what?_

“Come on, let’s get him out to the car. Think you can walk, Peril?” _I’m going to have to carry him, aren’t I? I hate it when I have to carry him!_

“You will not carry me,” Illya said, deciding he liked Gaby more today, much more than usual.

 _What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he high?_ Gaby said, without moving her lips, and Illya decided he didn’t very much like either of them today, and—

Oh.

“Oh, говно,” Illya murmured, as they hauled him to his feet and he staggered, leaning heavily on both of them but standing, damn it. “я слышу твои мысли.”

“Yeah, well we can’t hear yours,” Gaby snapped. _Did I hear that right? He can hear our thoughts?!_ “Speak German.”

“Or English. I’d like it if we kept all conversations about experimental telepathy drugs in English,” Napoleon quipped, thinking he was funny.

Actually, Illya realized, he only _hoped_ he was funny. Illya was surprised to learn how insecure Napoleon actually was under all that Cowboy swagger.

They got him outside to a car, though Illya shied away from the light of day, and his whole body was trembling faintly. He tried to be helpful, realizing they were both as frightened as him, but he alternately felt like he was going to faint or vomit.

“I am alright. Just dizzy. And you are very loud thinkers. Who else is here?” Gaby had pressed him onto a pallet in the back of a van, and laid a damp cloth over his eyes, but he could hear one or two others _thinking_ nearby.

_How the hell did he—?_

“Waverly sent us with a driver and a medic,” Napoleon explained, slowly. Illya got the impression that Napoleon thought he’d been replaced by a space alien, and he could almost agree with that. “Maybe THRUSH is onto something, if you can find agents with your eyes closed like that.”

“Not onto something. Not feasible for field work,” Illya insisted. “Makes me nauseous.”

 _Don’t puke on me,_ Napoleon thought, audibly, and then said. “I wanted you to hear that.”

The medic spoke up. “I’ll just be monitoring your vitals, Agent Kuryakin, so try to relax. Giving you some liquids and taking some blood. Don’t want to give you anything that might interact with the cocktail they’ve given you, so until we can get your blood analyzed, we’ll just have to hope it wears off.”

The medic’s excited thoughts raced with _This is amazing! Waverly is going to be thrilled! Think of the applications! We’ll have to run tests!_ like some kind of maniac. Like he should really be working for THRUSH, though Illya supposed if the three of them were anything to go by, UNCLE needed their own mavericks, as well.

Still, Illya removed the cover from his eyes and fixed Gaby with a pointed stare. “I want a new doctor.”

**Author's Note:**

> First in the February Ficlet Challenge of 2019, AKA, Look, I *Can* Write By Myself. The prompt was "Telepathy."
> 
> I have plans to continue this one with a short smutlet if there's any interest...but it'll be after the FFC is done...


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